


Tribbles, Togetherness, and the Great River

by sapphose



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Tribbles (Star Trek)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:14:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28178220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphose/pseuds/sapphose
Summary: In their shared quarters, Nog and Jake discuss tribbles, pets, and telling their families about their relationship.
Relationships: Nog/Jake Sisko
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26
Collections: To Boldly Gift: Fics 2020





	Tribbles, Togetherness, and the Great River

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TouchingOldMagic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TouchingOldMagic/gifts).



> This takes place after "The Ascent," when Nog and Jake move in together on the station. That episode takes place after "Trials and Tribble-ations," which ends with tribble invasion of the Promenade. I like to think that some of them lingered and became, like the voles, just an ongoing presence on the station.

“I found another one.” Nog emerged with the round, fuzzy tribble pinched between two fingers.

This one was brown, Jake noted from his sprawled position on the couch. So far they’d also caught white, pink, and gray, but the most common color by far was brown.

“I thought we got them all,” he responded, sitting up with a frown and setting his PADD aside.

“We must have let one slip through the cracks. You know they have an average litter of ten-”

“I know, I know. Ten new tribbles every twelve hours. I read the announcement too.” There had been several public service announcements since the tribbles first arrived on the station, in increasingly exasperated tones. The last one, from Constable Odo, had been quite curt. _The presence of_ _any remaining tribbles_ _in the habitat level is not an emergency and does not necessitate calling security. Refer to the last seven communiques sent to station residents on protocol for_ _dealing with the tribble infestation_ _._

“I think this is the last one.” Wrinkling his nose, Nog set it down on the end table, where it cooed and wiggled slightly.

“I hope so.” The tribbles didn’t bother Jake so much, but he had heard plenty about them from his roommate. Nog complained that, as cadet, he was the first name on the list for pest control. If he wasn’t crawling through plasma conduits looking for voles, he was in down in the old ore processing center counting tribbles.

“I don’t hear any others.”

“You didn’t hear any others last time, either,” Jake couldn’t help but point out. Nog made a face and ducked back into the bedroom.

For Jake, getting ready in the morning was not a process with many steps. The longest part was getting out of bed, and maybe choosing an outfit. Nog, who leaped out of bed like a Nimbosian horse and only ever wore his uniform, seemed to make the whole thing take ages. If he wasn’t sharpening his teeth or cleaning his ears or adjusting his headdress, he was standing in front of the mirror smoothing his uniform just in case it acquired any wrinkles since its nightly press.

(Jake had remarked once during a family dinner that Nog had lost his mind, which resulted in a stern reminder from his father that one could be written up for improper uniform, and Nog needed to make a good impression. Add it to the list of reasons Jake was in no hurry to join Starfleet.)

The tribble on the table burbled, and Jake had to smile. He reached out a hand and stroked it along the silky fur.

When he was younger, Jake had thought that the best texture in the universe was a plush sehlat his father had given him for a birthday. This tribble was even softer.

“They are cute,” he called out, which immediately summoned Nog’s head peeking around the corner.

“Don’t start,” Nog warned.

“I’m just saying, it’s hard to have a pet when you grow up Starfleet. I haven’t had one since my dad was at Utopia Planitia.” Jake tickled the tribble with his index finger, and it rustled happily.

“And you won’t have one now.” Nog stepped into the room with folded arms and his most serious, authoritative expression, the same one had had worn the last two times they had gone through this discussion. (The first time had been about a Rafalian mouse, and the second about a Samarian coral fish. Neither were as cuddly as a tribble.)

“If we could just get them to stop breeding-”

“But we can’t.”

That was, unfortunately, true. Dax had a theory that they would stop reproducing if they were kept at cold enough temperatures, but a pet you had to keep in a freezer was no pet at all.

“Fine,” Jake sighed.

“Fine,” Nog agreed, and went back to bustling. He called over his shoulder as he went, “They are cute, though.”

“Told you.”

After a brief clattering in the other room, Nog returned, with a bashful but determined expression.

“Not as cute as you,” he said quickly, as if he were afraid he wouldn’t get it all out if he hesitated.

Jake grinned.

“Have you been practicing that one?”

“Shut up,” Nog replied fondly, and took a seat on the other side of the couch.

There was almost nothing better in the world than laughing with Nog, Jake thought affectionately. The only thing that even came close was kissing Nog, which he proceeded to do with enthusiasm.

Kissing was not as common on Ferenginar as it was on Earth, and there was always the factor of Nog’s freshly sharpened teeth to be considered. But there was nothing quite like being held close by someone who loved you.

Jake pulled back with a contended sigh. Nog smiled broadly at him, but then the corners of his mouth sagged slightly, and he looked down at his hands.

“Have you told your dad yet?” he asked, picking at the corner of one blue fingernail.

“Not yet. I’m waiting for the right moment.”

“Of course.”

“The timing has to be right, you know? Not that he’s going to have a problem with it.” Jake petted the tribble slowly, directing his next words down to it. “I mean, what’s there to have a problem with? You’re a cadet in Starfleet. You put your laundry away. Heck, he probably likes you better than me at this point.”

Jake glanced sideways, to check Nog’s expression. Nog was watching him, with a soft and almost pitying look. Better than being offended, but Jake wasn’t sure he liked it.

“That’s not true,” Nog said.

“And Grandpa likes you. So it’ll be fine.” Grandpa, in fact, thought Nog was a fine, upstanding young man with a discerning palate. He always had been a good judge of character.

“Right.”

The silence lingered for a moment, on the edge of awkward. It was silly, Jake knew, to feel so nervous about telling his dad he was dating someone. After all, hadn’t he brought home a dabo spinner for dinner once? Nog was a cadet! Even Captain Sisko couldn’t have any objection. And he had grown much better about Ferengi. He treated both Rom and Nog with respect.

Of course it was hard to forget the stern voice of his childhood, that said Ferengi and humans couldn’t be friends and that Nog was a bad influence. They had grown up since then, all of them, but the doubt lingered. What if a Ferengi partner was the one thing Benjamin Sisko couldn’t accept?

Nor was Jake’s father the only concern.

“Have you told your dad?” he asked Nog tentatively.

“Not yet. He’ll be happy for me, though. It’s just… my uncle.”

Jake nodded his understanding.

“The root beer problem.”

The two of them were accustomed to navigating cultural differences and misunderstandings, but at the core, they tended to share similar (if not identical) values. Quark did not. He vehemently rejected anything Federation as anathema to the Ferengi way, and was not shy about sharing his opinion. Jake and Nog had developed the shorthand ‘root beer problem’ to refer to such outbursts, in reference to Quark’s disdain for Nog and Rom enjoying the beverage.

“But it’s not his choice to make. It’s mine. And I choose you.” As punctuation, Nog reached out and firmly took Jake’s hand in his own. Another human gesture. Jake squeezed back to show his appreciation.

“That one was good too. Bet you got all the boys at the Academy with lines like that,” he teased.

“Yeah, right,” Nog scoffed. “They were all lining up to kiss the Ferengi.”

Maybe it had been a poor choice of joke. Jake knew that Nog had not had an easy time in San Francisco.

“If you ever want to talk about it…”

“I know.”

It wasn’t fair. Nog had worked hard for his place in Starfleet and deserved to be there. But it seemed that there would always be those in the Federation who thought cultural exchange should only go one way. Personally, Jake thought that the Federation could learn from the Ferengi, too.

“We could always convince Quark to see it as a business opportunity,” he suggested. “Maybe a human interested in learning more about Ferengi culture would buy a copy of _The Rules of Acquisition_ , or _Oo-mox for Fun and Profit_. Then we could figure out something my dad needs, and you’d help him get it, and he’d be so grateful that he’d…” He’d what? He’d stop having the problem Jake insisted he wouldn’t have? “Never mind.”

Nog inched closer and nudged Jake’s knee with his own.

“You’ve been reading up on the Great Material Continuum, huh?” He looked pleased. Proud, even. Seeing Nog like that, Jake’s smile couldn’t stay hidden.

“From have to want and back again,” he quoted.

“It’s a good idea. A very _Ferengi_ idea,” Nog emphasized.

“Well, I am dating a Ferengi.” It wasn’t funny, but sometimes just looking into each other’s eyes set the two of them off laughing. Not out of humor, but out of sheer joy. The lingering, slightly incredulous bliss of _he really likes me_ that never seemed to wear off.

“You don’t have to read _Oo-mox for Fun and Prof_ _it_.”

“Maybe I want to.” Jake leaned over and planted a quick kiss on Nog’s ear, just to prove the point.

It was really adorable, he thought, when Nog blushed.

The loud roar of Nog’s alarm made them both jump. (He couldn’t settle for beeps or chimes like a normal person. Jake understood that he wanted to get to work on time, but a Bardakian pronghorn moose call? Seriously?)

“After my shift,” Nog said, and stood with a reluctance that made Jake proud. He liked to think that he was the only thing on the station that could stand between Nog and work.

The tribble squeaked, and Nog frowned at it.

“I wish we could send this to the Enterprise. Dr. Bashir said Commander Data is going to do a study on them.”

Jake thought of Nog spending another day looking for animals where they didn’t belong. Next would be Talarian hook spiders in the Jeffries Tubes, like Chief O’Brien told stories about.

What could he do or say that would give Nog one last smile before work?

“I’ve got an idea. How do you think Cardassian voles feel about tribbles?”

And there it was, that beautiful laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it, TouchingOldMagic! I tried to include as many Star Trek animal references as I could. :)


End file.
